


Wager

by GypsyReaper



Series: The Trickster's Apprentice [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Bonds, Angelic Grace, Angst and Humor, Archangel Castiel, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Carthage - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Geronimo!, Grace Bonds, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sabriel - Freeform, Trickster Sam, Tricksters, snap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyReaper/pseuds/GypsyReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to “Snap” </p>
<p>Sam’s getting used to his new trickster abilities, and so Gabriel decides to kill two birds with one stone with a little bet. Whoever can pull off the perfect trick to get their stubborn brothers in bed together wins! Meanwhile, someone plans on taking revenge against Cas and Gabe by hitting them right where it’ll hurt the most…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! It's the beginning of the final installment of Trickster's Apprentice. I'm very excited for the end of this series, and I've loved writing it. This is still a WIP but I wanted to get this first chapter up to get some feedback and let you guys know I didn't forget this series!

“So, maybe after you’re shift is over, we could go and—“

_Just…a…little…nudge._

The beer bottle in his hand slipped free and smacked the bar top, dumping the rest of its contents of the still cold beer right onto his crouch. 

Dean, hardened supernatural hunter he was, let out a sound like cat being dropped into a bucket of ice water. He leapt backwards to avoid the cold torrent but the damage had already been done. He ended up catching the attention of a few patrons around the bar. 

The impressively curvaceous bartender Dean had been hitting on sighed in a put out way. She grabbed several paper towels and cleaned up the counter before handing the roll to Dean. “Sorry, buddy. My one-night stands have to be at least a little coordinated to be worth my time.” With a laugh she walked off, leaving Dean scowling. 

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” he growled as he patted himself down.

“I d-didn’t say…any--pffft,” Sam said, trying not to laugh. 

Dean simply muttered dark curses under his breath. His quick reflexes had meant he’d dodged most of the beer, but there was still a dark patch on his crouch that the paper towels couldn’t get out. “Fuckin’ hell. I’m going to the bathroom.”

Dean walked off (he tried to act nonchalant but he had an unconscious swagger that caught people’s eyes—and their snickers) and Sam let out the pleased laugh he’d been holding in. It was hard not to feel triumphant. With a smile tugging at his lips, he felt the power settle back into his bones. He was quite proud of himself. The bottle hadn’t exploded—he was getting this whole ‘reign it in,’ thing after all. 

He’d managed little accidents for two weeks without Dean being any wiser. His brother didn’t even seem to suspect Gabriel’s involvement in his run of bad luck. Like when he tried to bring a girl back to their hotel room a few days ago and locked his key, wallet, and car keys in the room. Or last week when the little piece of paper with a number on it blew away in a stiff breeze. Or when he tried hitting on a girl while, unbeknownst to him, he was wearing a shirt that proclaimed “I HEART DICKS.” 

Okay, so they weren’t terribly inventive, but for a beginner Sam was pleased with his progress nevertheless.

_A little dry spell won’t kill him_ , Sam thought. He could just imagine Dean standing under the hot air dryer in the bathroom, trying to angle his crotch under the blast of hot air to dry his pants. He snickered at the image. 

Sam was having way too much fun with Gabriel’s suggestion of playing pranks on Dean. 

The gleeful smile faded a little at the thought of the Archangel, whom he hadn’t seen in over a week, almost two even. For the most part, he’d been able to ignore the pull of their profound bond on his heart and on the Grace that filled him. It was getting harder as the days passed; he had to put on a carefree face around Dean so his brother wouldn’t worry. Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay away. The last time Gabriel had left him, he’d almost went crazy and died. He was nowhere near that level of pain or weariness, but he did allow himself a self-pitying sigh since Dean wasn’t around. 

Sam at least knew Gabriel was alive. He could feel the satisfied glee that came with a job well done, so the Trickster was up to his old…well, tricks. Just the idea that Gabriel was out there made the separation bearable. And if it was a real emergency, the two-way radio the bond created meant Sam could get Gabriel’s attention. But he left the radio alone, let the silence linger.

They were playing it cool, flying under the radar, and so far no angels or demons had bothered any of them. It seemed to be working for the moment. 

That didn’t make Sam miss his bondmate any less. He didn’t really want to be wandering around aimlessly like they had been for the past month or so. Jo and Ellen had headed off to the East Coast while he and Dean had decided to take a lazy road trip towards California. Bobby threw them a case once in a while but for the most part, they were simply being. No big bad guys were chasing them, no Apocalypses to avert. For once, the driving force behind everything they did was gone. It was like pulling the engine out of a car and still expecting it to move.

The Winchesters were starting to suffer from a bit of an identity crisis.

Sam slowly sipped more of his own beer. He wondered if Gabriel missed him just as much—probably not. Time went by differently to a being who’d been around since, well, ever. The Trickster probably had barely noticed Sam’s absence. He sighed again.

“If you’re face got any longer it’d fall right in your beer,” a smooth Southern accent said playfully behind him. Sam blinked and turned around to find an Amazon of a redheaded woman standing behind him with a dazzling smile aimed at him. 

Tall, full-figured, with curly red hair and freckles splashed across her cheeks. A blue plaid shirt matched her blue eyes, and she had legs that stretched forever, revealed in a pair of shorts. Sam almost let his jaw drop from surprise that such a beautiful woman was in such a dump, talking to him. “Uh, excuse me?”

She laughed. “You that smooth with every lady you come ‘cross?”

“You came up to me,” Sam pointed out. She had a no nonsense attitude that Sam wasn’t sure how to counter. Almost like she was daring him to hit on her. 

“I guess I did. This seat taken?” She asked, and sat at the empty bar stool next to him before he could even answer. She sat with her back against the counter and crossed her legs, cowboy boots casually kicking in the air. 

“Hey, Sammy—whoa, who’s your friend?” Dean asked, walking back up and looking drier in the neither regions. He shot Sam a betrayed look (he was barely gone a minute and his baby brother already had a hot date? What the hell?!), but had already put his ‘suave, mystery man’ hat back on, it seemed. 

“Um…”

“Cheyenne,” she said sweetly. “And you are…?”

“Sam. And this is my brother, Dean.”

“His older and better-looking brother,” Dean clarified with a winning smile.

Sam grinned. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He could make a good wingman when he wanted.

Cheyenne cast her eyes up and down Dean in an appraising way. “Suppose that’s true for some. Nice try, short stack, but I prefer the mile-high flapjacks myself.” She winked at Sam, who was torn between watching this girl put Dean in his place and making sure he got out of her crosshairs. 

“I’m not short!” Dean said hotly. “I’m 6’2”!”

She laughed. “Guess he makes everyone look short, huh darlin’?”

“It’s a gift,” Sam said. “Much as I appreciate the compliment, I’m kinda off the table.”

Dean scowled. “And hey, look at that, I _happen_ to have no plans for this evening. Trust me, this one was _born_ in a wet blanket; I can show you a good time.”

“You two could share,” she said with a smirk as she looked between them. 

Dean, who was taking a swig of a new beer, promptly choked on it. “Good God, lady! I’m not doing anything with him—he’s my _brother_!”

“Some people are into that sorta thing,” she said, looking at her fingernails with a bored expression. She looked around at the other customers in the bar and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “’Course, if you wanna talk about that in private, I can do that.” 

“Listen Cheyenne, since you can’t seem to understand what I’m saying. No. Thank. You.” Sam said harshly. The idea that this woman actually thought he would cheat on Gabriel, an Archangel, with a bitch like her made his stomach roll indignantly. “I’m sorry, but _I’m taken_.”

“Damn right you are,” Cheyenne said, her voice getting lower. She leaned over towards Sam, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and dragged him to her with strength he wasn’t expecting. She smashed her lips to Sam’s and kissed him, hard and fast. It was hard to say who was more surprised, Sam or Dean.

Sam didn’t even get a chance to jerk back: her lips felt familiar enough to make him freeze in surprise.

“What the fuck lady? Get off him!” Dean reached forward with the intent of ripping her off Sam and tossing her across the room. He knew in his gut they were dealing with a supernatural _something_ , and he had to get it away from Sam. 

“Or what?” Cheyenne asked, cutting her eyes at Dean, making him pause when her eyes changed from blue to that familiar whiskey gold.

“ _G-Gabriel?_ ” Sam stuttered once she let him come up for air. His lips were swollen and his hair had fallen in his face. He felt like he’d just run a marathon, his heart was pounding so hard!

“Howdy chuckleheads!” She said, looking straight at Dean with a smile. 

“Oh….oh, god, _why_?!” Dean gagged when he saw those golden orbs. “I hit on _Gabriel_!” he hissed, taking a step backwards in shock and revulsion. He put a hand to his mouth. “I think I just threw up a little.”

“You were _fightin’_ over me. How sweet!” Gabriel cackled in Cheyenne’s sweet southern twang. “Suppose that’ll teach you to think first with your dick, huh?”

“God, just kill me now,” Dean moaned. Sam let out a relieved laugh at that.

“I can arrange that,” Gabriel said cheerfully but with just a hint of danger, holding up his fingers to snap. A few other patrons of the hole-in-the-wall bar turned to look at them curiously. The bouncer near the back wall now had his attention on them, in case Dean made a move against the lady. Trickster. Lady? Whatever he was.

“Why the hell do you look like a bad Daisy Duke cosplay?” Dean huffed in a low voice. 

“It’s called being undercover dingbat,” Gabriel hissed. “Just finished up a job in town and couldn’t resist pulling the wool over ya’lls eyes while in this get-up.” He looked at Sam. “You like?” 

“Killing people again?” Dean snapped, cutting off Sam’s response.

Gabriel/Cheyenne held up his arms in surrender. “Not dead, not dead. Your brother made me swear to lay off the actually fun ones. You should definitely read about it tomorrow though. Fat bastard got what he deserved, God bless his heart.”

Dean looked at Gabriel and Sam. He’d thought Sam had been mighty quiet in the past few minutes, and one look told him why. Now that it was established those were Gabriel’s boobs (what kinda life was Dean living when he’d ever have to _think_ that sentence?), Sam was fully mesmerized by the DDs just a few inches from his face. 

Dean gagged. “Jesus, Sam, why don’t you just whip it out right here and now?” He spat. 

Sam blinked in surprise. “Do what?”

His brother pulled on his leather jacket and threw some money on the bar for the drinks. 

“You seem crankier than usual, Deanie,” Gabriel said with an eyebrow raised. 

Dean shot him a glare. “No thanks to you, asshat!” he said. “Don’t go near my damn car, got it?”

Without another word Dean strode out of the bar angrily, hands shoved in his pockets in order to not hit anything on his way out. Gabriel and Sam looked at each other. 

“What’s his problem?” Gabriel asked, puzzled. 

“Dry spells make him bitchy,” Sam said with a shrug and mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. 

Gabriel laughed. He leaned down and nibbled on a bit of exposed neck, feeling the goosebumps rise under his lips, felt Sam pause at the sensation. “Poor bastard, on the radar of _two_ Tricksters.” 

“I’m not a Trickster,” Sam said firmly. 

“Fine, one and a-half. Now, you really want to argue semantics or you want to head back to our place?”

Sam grinned. “Our place.” To know there was a place waiting for him out there made the sentence, and what was to follow, that much better.

~*~

Dean strode into the gas station with such a sour frown that the clerk behind the counter unconsciously reached for the silent alarm. He made his way to the cooler and grabbed a 6-pack, then meandered around the store, grabbing candy bars, chips a burger. He paid with cash they’d hustled earlier and hurried across the street to their hotel. For once, the room didn’t smell like mold or bleach, or have mystery stains on the mattresses. That was a bona fide miracle. 

Dean looked at the empty room and sighed in irritation and frustration. He knew he wasn’t going to see Sam for the rest of the night at least; when he caught sight of Sam’s laptop an idea popped into his head. With an impish grin Dean opened it up and opened an internet tab. Time to get back at his irritating little brother. 

“There’s always a silver lining,” he said, trying to cheer himself up. “Without bitchface around I can indulge in a little self-love.”

There was no way they were going to get charged for the stupid skin channels when there was plenty of free porn online. And if the computer froze or broke it wasn’t like he was the one who’d have to pay to get it fixed. The idea of Sam taking it to a tech center, ears and cheeks on fire, made him laugh aloud. 

His mood was beginning to lighten when his eyes got caught by a headline on the homepage. Most of the headlines were gossip related, but one made him tilt his head. He clicked on it, porn forgotten momentarily, as he read:

50 CURED IN COMMUNAL GATHERING: FAITH OR FAKE?

He took a swig of beer, skimming through the article, the hairs on his neck standing up. 50 people at one of those hack faith healers got exactly what they bargained for when, after lightning struck the tent, they left completely 100% healthy. A blind guy could suddenly see, a guy with a crippled leg apparently told the reporter he was planning on running a marathon. Everything from colds to cancer had been supposedly healed. 

Dean swallowed and frowned at the screen. He knew something was up, and the deja vu was making his stomach roll. 

Sam had dragged him to a faith healer once, a long time ago, back when Reapers were the scariest things Dean could imagine. His dying heart had been healed, but at the expense of another guy falling dead across town. Roy the healer thought he was doing God’s work; so did his wife, who had a Reaper on a leash and was siccing it on anyone she thought deserved it. 

Had something like that happened again? Or was it something else? Dean wasn’t one for miracles, and he had a feeling it wasn’t God suddenly being benevolent, so what the hell was going on?

He pulled out his phone for a moment, thinking, turning it in his hand as he did so. He wanted to call Sam, see what bookworm thought it could be. Bonus points if he could break up whatever tea party he and the Asshat of the Lord were up too. At the same time, he already had a decent idea what was up, but he couldn’t figure on _why_.

_This is gonna be a waste of time_ , Dean told himself. _It’s not like they get cell service in Heaven._

Dean hit speed-dial on number 4, feeling a little nervous as the phone on the other end rang. His fingers tapped on his beer impatiently. 1 had always been reserved for Sam, even during his stay at Stanford. 2 for John when he was alive. 3 was for Bobby. And 4…

“I don’t understand. Why do I have to say my name? Beep, beep, BEEP, beep, BEEEEEP.”

Dean sighed. “Hey, Cas, it’s, uh, Dean.” _No shit, Sherlock._ “I was just wondering if you know something about a case in Wyoming. Just, uh, drop by the Rocket Motel in Utah if you get a moment. So…yeah….bye.”

He looked at the phone and let out a breath. Why the hell had that been so hard to say?

“Leaving a friggin’ voicemail for an angel…Arch, Archangel,” he muttered, correcting himself. “What a life.”

He waited almost a whole minute, but nothing happened. No rustling of feathers, no thunder overhead or a miniquake. Just the rattling of the central heat as it kicked on, and he swore it was blowing out cold air. 

One minute turned to five, which stretched into ten. Once fifteen minutes came and went, Dean gave up waiting and decided Cas wasn’t going to show. Then again, Cas had disappeared after the ‘We saved the world!’ party at Bobby’s and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Dean was used to Cas’s abrupt comings and goings, yet there was this sense of unfinished business that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

If he were to be honest with himself (which was something he generally tried to avoid because there were some pretty dark places in there) he’d almost admit to missing the stupid angel.

_God, when did I grow a friggin’ vagina?_ Dean reprimanded himself. _Cas’s got better things to do. He’s not one to perch on shoulders, remember? He’s a warrior of God, a Heavenly Terminator._

He got up, kicked off his boots and stripped off his flannel with an irritated huff before heading towards the bathroom. A nice, long hot shower (since he didn’t have to leave any hot water for Sam--not saying he would have anyway) and a little personal time was what he need right then. 

~*~

Dean came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, whistling a little tune to himself. The whistle died in his throat when he almost walked into someone standing on the other side of the door. He let out his second unmanliest noise of the evening as he darted to the side, hand on his towel, ready to strangle the intruder with it. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas said cordially. He was standing there, unblinking, waiting. 

“What the hell, Cas?!” Dean growled, trying to slow his breathing. “Almost gave me a damn heart attack!” 

“My apologies,” Cas said automatically. 

“Dude, why are you hovering outside the bathroom? It’s not like you gotta use it!”

“I was waiting for you to come out.”

_Well, that **is** an improvement,_ Dean decided. At least Cas waited until he was coming out of the bathroom to sneak up and give him a heart attack, inside of just popping _in_.

The idea of Cas randomly showing up inside the bathroom while Dean was doing inappropriate things to himself made the hunter shake his head, trying to shake the creeping blush away. 

“Why are you here?” His voice came out harsher than he meant—his heart was pounding a little more than it should have been from a little startle. He kept blinking, but Cas stayed in his vision. The angel looked—the exact same. _So, guess that’s a good thing. Like a dog having a wet nose._

At that, Cas scowled in annoyance. “You left me a message,” the angel said, pulling out the little flip phone from his trench coat pocket. 

Dean blinked. “Oh, shit, right. Yeah, I just figured…you didn’t pop up right away, so I figured you weren’t going to show.”

Now he could see Cas’s eyes get a hard edge to them. _Oh shit._ “I’m not a simple dog you can summon and dismiss when the urge strikes, Dean. I have other business to attend to.” The challenge in Cas’s voice made Dean take a step back, both figuratively and literally. He backed up to the middle of the room, but it was a useless gesture. Cas could kill him before he could blink. 

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that, Cas.” Intense blue eyes scrutinized Dean’s face, and it made the hunter shift uncomfortably, but he didn’t break eye contact. Finally, Cas let out a little sigh. 

“Things have been…difficult recently,” the angel admitted. Dean could’ve sworn the angel looked…tired? No, he still stood there like there was a stick shoved up his ass, and his head was still held high, but there was definitely a haggard air around Heaven’ Newest Sheriff. “What’s the case you wanted to seek my advice on?”

Work—perfect neutral territory they could stand on. Dean went over to his duffel and pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of boxers. He was about to drop the towel and pull the boxers on when he felt Cas’s eyes zeroing in on him. “Dude, turn around.”

“Why?” Cas asked. 

“Because guys don’t stare at each other when they get dressed,” Dean said. “It’s awkward.”

“Dean, I rebuilt your entire mortal form after I pulled your soul from perdition.” Dean could’ve sworn he saw Cas’s lips twitch upwards in a ghost of a smirk. 

“Dammit, Cas, you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.” He was not blushing at that. What the hell was with all the embarrassed blushing all of a sudden?

Castiel let out a worn sigh but turned around. He could hear Dean getting dressed, and he let his eyes wander around the motel room. He shifted uncomfortably.

“So apparently in Wyoming a bunch of people were apparently healed mysteriously when they went to a faith healer,” Dean said when the awkward silence in the room got too much for him. His boxers were on, as was his shirt, but he still felt a little too exposed. Cas was still turned away from him, so he decided to slip on another pair of clean jeans. 

Cas was quiet for a moment. “What exactly is the problem?”

“Last time I ran into a faith healer it wasn’t exactly kosher,” Dean started. 

“Roy LaGrange,” Cas interrupted. “I know what happened.”

“So, was it one of yours? Or some other nasty trying to get under people’s radar?”

“It wasn’t one of Heaven’s,” Cas said simply. 

Dean ran a hand through his wet hair, making it stand up in spikes. “Then I guess when Sam gets back, we’ll start—“

“It was me.”

Dean arched an eyebrow, but realized Cas still hadn’t turned back around. “I’m dressed. And what are you saying?”

Cas turned around, an unreadable look on his face. “I healed those people, Dean. They were believers; it was the least they deserved.”

“Doesn’t that screw up the order of the universe or something?” 

“I’m not trading lives. Just fixing what was broken.”

“Well, guess it’s better late than never,” Dean muttered darkly. “Giving a rat’s ass about the planet, I mean.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he stood a little straighter and his eyes locked onto Dean’s. “Would you rather I didn’t help them?” he challenged. 

“Why start now? We were plugging along just fine until your bosses had the bright idea to jumpstart Judgment Day. Now that the End of Days got cancelled, why bother with the community service?” 

“Nothing satisfies you, does it Dean? You criticize Heaven’s lack of involvement, yet you seem just as dissatisfied when I actually do try to help in some fashion,” Cas shot back, clearly frustrated.

Dean’s mouth open and shut for a moment. “I—shit, that’s not what I—“

“I may not understand everything you say, Dean, but your meaning was perfectly clear,” Cas snapped. 

“Cas! What’s wrong with you, man?” Dean asked loudly. “I wasn’t bitching, I was _asking_ why the change in heart.” Okay, maybe he’d been bitching a little, but he was almost forced to become an angel condom and kill his little brother—Heaven wasn’t exactly known for being _nice_. 

Cas gritted his teeth. “Mistakes have to be atoned for,” he simply said. 

“What the hell does that even—Cas! Dammit Cas, we aren’t done!” Too late, the angel was gone, and Dean was left yelling at the ceiling like an idiot. He was frustrated and now horribly confused. He yanked open the fridge and pulled out another beer. He flung the cap towards the trash so hard it bounced off the rim and went shooting across the room like a bullet. 

_What the hell is wrong with you?_ Dean wondered. Cas was up to something, hiding something. He was doing that cryptic Heavenly riddle-talk again. Dean had no idea what the fuck was going on, and no way to figure it out. It made his chest burn, and he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the jalapeno burger he’d for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up to the sound of an annoyed Enochian curse.

He had a decent grasp of Latin, knew some high school Spanish, but Enochian was still a mystery to him. It was a real hassle to try and speak with human vocal cords. The one time he tried to speak it, Gabriel had told him that he sounded like Donald Duck trying to quote Shakespeare. 

Needless to say, he didn’t speak Enochian. However, that didn’t stop him from understanding the annoyed words—the bond provided a handy translation, via subtitles, right in his head: 

_Fucking blockheads._

Sam snorted himself awake. 

Gabriel was lying under him, just as he had been when Sam had blacked out. The archangel didn’t seem to mind being trapped under Sam’s larger frame. Luckily, he didn’t need to do anything important, like breathe. Instead, he was simply carding his short fingers through Sam’s hair with affection with one hand. The other was laying on his right hip, trailing over the bone there; he was looking over Sam’s shoulder, exasperation on his face. 

“Wha’s wron’?” Sam grumbled into Gabriel’s shoulder. 

“You’re already conscious? I must be losing my touch,” Gabriel said cheekily. 

Sam shifted and groaned quietly. “Shit,” he hissed. Everything below his waist was either bruised, beaten, or (like his legs still straddling Gabriel’s waist) numb. He needed to get the circulation going again, but he knew it was going to hurt. He had no idea how long he’d been out. 

The angel snickered. “You were the impatient one.”

“Shut up, Gabriel.”

The mates hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks—eternity in bonded-mate time. They ripped each other’s clothes off (literally, when it came to Sam’s shirt) in record time, pausing only long enough for Sam to make Gabriel revert back to his normal form. Cheyenne was lovely, and in his previous life he would’ve been happy to sleep with such a woman, but she wasn’t what Sam wanted anymore. She wasn’t Gabriel, his bond mate.

They had kissed and licked and sucked and fucked each other senseless and voiceless. Now that the cloud of wonton need wasn’t clouding his mind, Sam really wished they’d paused for lube. Saying his ass was sore would’ve won an ‘understatement of the year’ award. 

Gabriel chuckled. “Such a baby,” he teased. He pressed a hand to Sam’s forehead and the burning ache in his ass was healed instantly; his legs were no longer numb. His hips, however, were still tender. Sam looked down and could see the bruises on them—one matched up exactly with the hand print seared into his hip. 

“Those stay. So you have something to remember me by,” Gabriel said with a wink. 

The hunter noticed that Gabriel still had a trail of love bites down his own neck. He could’ve healed them instantly, but he wanted them to stay. The angel liked making marks as well as touting them around. A good thing considering Sam got bite-happy. 

The need that had made their blood boil earlier, that had rung through their bond like a bronze gong, was now a contented hum. Gabriel’s Grace enveloped his soul in soft warmth, and he could feel the Grace under his skin—it felt like he’d been pumped full of sunshine.

“What’s up?” Sam asked. 

Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just felt a little disturbance in the Force.”

The hunter stilled and looked around. He was already trying to figure out where his clothes were, his knife, how quickly they could get back to Dean before something--

“Down boy, it’s nothing major,” Gabriel interrupted his thoughts. “Just Adam and Steve being their usual, charming selves. Our brothers,” he clarified when Sam looked at him, mystified. 

“Oh! Cas is back from Heaven?” Sam asked curiously. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gabriel said, motioning widely with his arm. “The world is a pretty big place; plenty big enough for an angel to get lost. Plenty of places to hole-up for a while.” 

Gabriel felt Sam starting to fidget and allowed the hunter to climb off of his lap. His growled his displeasure at Sam’s departure, however. The hunter flopped on the cloud-bed next to him and sighed, allowing the bed to pull him down into its soft embrace. Motel beds were never this soft—his body was still getting used to the relaxing feeling. He tucked his hands behind his head. 

“Cas had been on Earth this whole time,” Sam mulled aloud. “Huh. I mean, he disappeared without a word—just figured he went back upstairs.”

“You know what they say about assuming, Sam. Don’t make me turn you into a donkey,” Gabriel said. 

“You wouldn’t—“

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, you would. I just figured he would’ve said something or, I dunno, popped in on Dean at some point.” 

“He did. Tonight,” Gabriel said. “But hey, I’m not his keeper.” 

“Why is he hiding?”

“Why? Hello, Michael wants both our asses in a bad, bad way, remember?” Gabriel said. “Sheesh kid, I thought you were good at connecting the dots!” 

“Right, sorry. Glad to hear he’s safe, at least,” Sam said, sincerely. He didn’t know Castiel long, but he considered him a good ally—even a good friend. 

“Annnnnd now your brother has gone and upset him.” Gabriel commented, watching the drama unfolding in a faraway place. Sam was surprised he didn’t snap up some popcorn. 

_Snap!_ Ah, apparently this called for Skittles, not popcorn.

Gabriel popped some candy in his mouth, and gave Sam a pained look. “For someone who thinks that much with his dick, Dean’s awfully dense in the Castiel department.”

Sam’s cheeks turned red and he bit the inside of his lip. “I’m not going anywhere near that with a ten-foot-pole.”

“What’s your penis got to do with anything?” Gabriel’s deadpan delivery made him laugh even though he didn’t want to. The angel got a bitch face for his efforts, though.

“Sorry my brother’s an idiot,” Sam said.

“Just glad it’s not genetic,” Gabriel said with a lop-sided grin. “I’ve got a thing for people with actual brains in their skulls.”

There was another moment of companionable silence between them. “So snickerdoodle, how’s the trickery coming?” The angel asked lazily, popping handfuls of candy in his mouth. He was lying on his side, naked except for the open button-up shirt still draped over his shoulders. 

“Pretty good,” Sam said. There was scratching at the bedroom door, and Sam flicked his wrist. The door opened magically and let in the apartment’s other resident. Claws clack around the floor and the ever energetic Rascal leapt onto the bed with the grace of a deer. 

A snort of laughter was forced out of the angel when he looked to spy his white-and-black Jack Russell was now hot pink, with green tiger stripes running down his sides, and an electric blue Mohawk of fur on his head. The dog didn’t seem to notice the change—or perhaps he did. He seemed to be strutting around more than usual. He usually just leapt straight towards anything he could reach with slimy kisses—now he was trotting around like a proud racehorse on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s a good look on you, furball,” Gabriel told him. Rascal’s tail wagged with enough force to possibly propel him into the air. 

“Congrats, you’ve helped my dog realize his dream of being the star in the next ‘Technicolor Dream Coat’ movie. Gotten Dean with anything good yet?”

Sam shrugged, and yawned. It was the middle of the night, and he was tired. “Been able to keep Dean from getting laid for a couple weeks now. He doesn’t seem to suspect anything.”

Gabriel frowned. “Sam, that’s boring stuff! Where the one is where you trap Dean in a world where pie doesn’t exist, or turn the Impala into a Pimpmobile, complete with fuzzy dice and hydraulics? Oh, or make it so he only has gay porn playing in his head all the time?” 

“I thought this was supposed to be a subtle thing?” Sam asked. 

Gabriel waved it away. “Subtle is boring!” 

“Hey, those were your original house rules.”

A twinkle appeared in those honey eyes and Sam immediately went on guard. “Well, kiddo, time for new house rules! How about we up the ante with a little wager?” 

“A wager?” Sam repeated suspiciously. 

“Yes, one that’ll kill two birds with one stone! See, you need to practice bigger and better pranks, and our brothers obviously need some outside help when it comes to the bumping-uglies department.”

“God, I really don’t need that image in my head—“

“Come on, Sam, lighten up! You’re the only species on the plant that gets so hung up on sex, it’s downright _weird_ \--”

“Let me guess—you want to somehow trick our brothers into sleeping together?” Sam asked in one breath, hoping the mental images that might accompany such a question wouldn’t get stuck in his head. 

Gabriel’s grin could’ve lit up the dark side of the moon. “Bingo, Winchester! I knew there were some smarts rattling around in that big ol’ melon of yours.” 

Sam blinked. “I was just _kidding_.”

“And I wasn’t. How ironic.”

“That sounds really ‘rapey’, Gabriel,” Sam said, wrinkling his nose. 

“Look, still an angel, right?” Gabriel said, pointing to himself. “Still have a thing about consent. A big Thing. I’m not saying we slip one a ruffie and one an aphrodisiac and lock ‘em in a closet. That’s just _too easy_! I just think they need a little nudge in the right direction. I swear, nothing that interferes with consent.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Mojoing Cas and Dean into sleeping together doesn’t sound creepy as fuck to you?”

“We’re only mojoing their heads out of their asses so they can see what’s in front of them,” Gabriel countered. 

Sam rubbed his face. “No, Gabriel. Just…. _no_. Not Dean, for crying out loud!”

“It’s the perfect set up, Sam!” Gabriel said. He wasn’t whining. He wasn’t. “Come on, Sam, you can’t tell me their UST hasn’t made you crazy. You’re the poor bastard stuck in the middle!”

Sam scowled. Okay, they did kinda—hover around each other a lot. And sure, Dean had made the comment about Cas’s eyes being pretty, but he was drunk! They were all drunk!

“Sam, our brothers are too stubborn to sort this out on their own,” Gabriel said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It’s up to us to help them out, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but the Trickster did have a point. Dean was too hung up on Sam’s well-being to even think about his own self. 

“I think this is something they can figure out for themselves,” Sam said finally. 

He expected the angel to pout or argue. Instead, Gabriel nodded. “Ah, I see. You know I would’ve _totally_ kicked your ass so you’re backing out gracefully. I can respect that,” Gabriel said nonchalantly. 

Sam glared at him. “No one knows my brother better than me.”

“And no one pranks better than I do. It’s my job, after all.” There was a fire in Gabriel’s eyes that made Sam even more competitive.

“Alright Gabriel, if this was a bet, what would the rules be?” Sam asked, simply curious and not for any other reason. 

“One prank per Trickster—sigh, Trickster _and_ Apprentice,” Gabriel amended. “Whoever pulls the prank that gets them in bed wins! Simple as that.”

“What’s the prize?” Again, just curiosity. 

Gabriel shrugged. “Whatever the winner wants.”

Sam huffed. “I can get that anyway.”

“Oh, I like you cocky,” Gabriel said, eyes roaming over Sam’s stretched out form. “But, I’m pretty sure this is a crap-shoot. You’ve got no chance against me, kiddo.”

“I beg to differ. You just don’t want to make this bet because you know I’m gonna win.” Sam’s eyes were bright with excitement—the angel could see the gears turning in the kid’s head. 

“No wonder you Winchesters die so often,” Gabriel said with a chuckle. “Don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash, Sambini.”

“I’m starting to think you’re all talk, Gabe,” Sam shot back. 

Gabriel’s grin was both dangerous and feral, but Sam didn’t look away. They could feel each other’s confidence and smugness bouncing on the bond. 

“Alright then. I’ll give you a few days to practice those little Grace muscles of yours before we make our respective moves. Deal?” How the Trickster managed to sound both relaxed and excited would forever remain a mystery a Sam. 

Sam, however, was all grins. “Deal.” The hunter and angel shook hands, and Sam felt a crackle of power surrounding them. Rascal, who was curled up in a multi-colored ball on the far corner of the monstrous bed, peeked at them with one half-opened eye before going back to sleep. 

“Oh, and there’s just one more thing we need to take care of,” Gabriel said easily. 

“What’s tha—hey!” Sam found himself being pushed back onto the bed, but had somehow been turned around so he was instead on his stomach. 

He could feel Gabriel pressing down against his back, the angel’s lips between his shoulder blades, nipping at the skin there. He tried to move, but it was like being trapped in stone. He shivered when he realized Gabriel was keeping him still with just _one hand_ pressed down on his back.

“What’re you doing?” Sam demanded, but the pounding of his pulse and sudden surprise made him sound needier than anything. 

Gabriel hummed a content little noise, and pushed his hips up to Sam’s ass. The hunter could feel his own dick getting hard against the bed as Gabriel’s own erection was rubbed against the crack of his ass. 

“If you want to take me on, you’re going to need a power boost, kid,” Gabriel said softly. “I want this to be somewhat of a fair fight, after all.”

Gabriel’s other hand reached down and rubbed the puckered rim with gentle little circles. Sam moaned into the bed, and tried to buck his hips backwards, but Gabriel wasn’t letting him move an inch. 

“Lube,” Sam managed to get out between heavy pants. The angel was barely touching him yet he felt like he was losing his mind. Those little circles were making his toes curl. 

“Way ahead of you, sport,” Gabriel said. Sam could hear the smile in his tone. The angel’s dick was suddenly covered in warm lube, and it left a trail over and between Sam’s cheeks.

“I’ve got plenty of lube on hand. We’re going to be at this for a while. Did you know angels can do it for _days_?” 

Before Sam could say anything, Gabriel shoved his dick balls-deep into the hunter without warning. Coherent thought went out the window for a long while after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! The Muse for this story basically ran away as soon as I finished chapter one and I’ve had a hell of a time getting it to come back! Between work and my other myriads of projects, I just couldn’t get into the right headspace for a while. Hopefully I’ll start posting more regularly after this. I’m just trying to decide if this should be more light-hearted or drama-heavy. Feel free to offer suggestions, especially for pranks!


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, Dean…you alive?"

Dean answered with a loud grunt.

"C'mon, man. It's almost noon."

Dean blinked his eyes a few times but the room was still bleary in the late morning light. He leaned up on his elbow, ran a hand over his face, and blinked a few more times. He felt the unshaven stubble on his face, and saw that he had passed out on top of the bed, still in his clothes. He'd even left his shoes on.

"Sam?" Dean croaked. His throat was dryer than the Sahara—he had to clear it a couple times.

"Morning," Sam said nonchalantly. His younger brother was sitting at the small kitchenette table, surfing on his laptop and drinking coffee from a to-go cup. Sam's hair was a bit frizzier than usual, and he had circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept.

Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but Dean motioned for him to be silent. The thumping behind his eyes was getting worse the longer he was conscious.

He lay on his back for a moment, just to allow the fog to exit his brain. It seemed more like spider web than fog—it just stayed there, clinging to his brain and making everything hazy. He slowly rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. After washing his face and drinking some water, he started to feel a little more human. The pain pills he popped would hopefully help the migraine sooner rather than later.

When Dean came out he wandered over to Sam, who handed him a cup of coffee. Dean noticed an extra cup still in the cardboard carrier on the table. Was Gabriel supposed to drop by? He hoped not; he wasn't mentally prepared for a caffeinated Trickster.

"Wasn't expecting to see you for a while." Dean's voice was still painfully gravelly.

Sam shrugged. "You didn't send me a text at the ass crack of dawn so I came to make sure some one-night stand didn't leave you in a bathtub of ice."

"Aren't you considerate," Dean mumbled.

Sam motioned around at the myriad of empty beer bottles on the table. "Must've been one hell of a party last night," he said casually.

"Oh yeah. Last night was the annual Sexy Triplets of Utah Convention. _Triplets_ , man. Too bad you ran off with Douchey McFly, I might've shared," Dean quipped.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, _right_."

"Yeah, you're right. No way in hell I would've shared."

He looked around at the bottles again, and was only just able to stop from sighing.

_"Mistakes have to be atoned for."_ Those were Castiel's last words and they'd been ringing in Dean's ears for most of the night. The distraught, lost look the angel had when he'd flown the coop also had stayed in Dean's mind all night.

Why did that expression make Dean drink until he didn't even remember passing out? Why did he feel his stomach rolling around angrily? Why did he care?

_Cas is an angel—Archangel. He can handle himself. He doesn't need you staying up all night getting a hangover because of him. He doesn't care._

"Dean?" Sam was looking at him; he must've been quiet a few minutes too long.

"Headache," Dean said, waving away Sam's concern. He swirled the cup around, the smell perking up his hungover brain. He lifted it to his lips, blowing on it before taking a sip. He didn't notice Sam trying not to smirk behind his own cup.

"Ugh! Dammit, Sammy," Dean swore as he pulled back from the cup in disgust. He glowered at his younger brother. "Seriously? Salt instead of sugar? Come on, bitch, I thought I taught you better than that!"

"I just couldn't resist, jerkface," Sam said with a carefree laugh. He took Dean's cup and presented him with the other cup of coffee. Ah, that's why there was another one waiting in the wings.

Dean tested it, watching Sam's expression the whole time, but the coffee was hot, with the right ratio of looked at Sam. "Guess I'm getting off easy if that's the only thing you've picked up from the Trickster….So, what's on today's agenda?"

"I was thinking of having a rave in our room," Sam said easily. "Lots of bright lights and techno. Figured Gabe could cater. All the greasy pork sandwiches served in ashtrays you could pray for," he finished with a snicker.

"Bite me, asshole," Dean said, but there was affection to it. "I hate morning-afters."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Sam said, still grinning. "Especially if those 'twins' footed you with their tab," he motioned around at the bottles.

Dean glowered at him.

"Alright, alright…." Sam sat at his laptop and pulled up some tabs. "Actually, I think I have a case. It's about two hours north of here. Probably nothing more than a salt and burn, but—"

"Hey, work is work," Dean said quickly. "I'll take anything right now."

He took several sips of his coffee as Sam filled him in on the sketchy newspaper details. He was only half paying attention to his brother, though, and Sam quickly stopped talking.

"Dean are you even listening?"

Dean took another swig of his coffee. "Cas dropped by last night," Dean managed to say casually.

Sam raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked around at the beer bottles. "Ah," he said in sudden understanding. "Did you two decide to play a drinking game?"

_Doing shots with an Archangel, wouldn't that have been a kick in the pants_ , Dean thought to himself. He wished that's what had happened last night, instead of their weird-ass sorta kinda argument.

Maybe his bad luck run with the ladies made him cranky and he took it out on Cas.

Maybe he was upset about Cas disappearing without even a bat of an eyelash or a goodbye or even an _anything_. Maybe he was pissed because the stupid angel couldn't even let him know he was still around, being stupid.

Nah, that wasn't it at all.

Aloud, he said, "Not exactly. He's apparently been running around Earth."

Sam sighed. "Guess that makes since. I mean, Michael _did_ threaten to rip him a new one if he went back upstairs," he said.

"Did Gabriel know Cas was still around?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "You really think Gabriel would've blown the cover of an angel on the run from Heaven?"

"Yeah, you're right. Just covering all the bases."

"What's Cas been doing, did he say?" Sam asked.

"The usual. Now that he's all super-mojoed, he's being Mr. Superhero. You know, healing the sick, pulling kittens from trees, and making out with Wonder Woman in his spare time."

"You don't sound bitter at all," Sam said with that annoyingly smug twitch of his lips.

"I'm not bitter!" Dean vehemently denied.

Sam was about to say something when Dean's stomach growled.

"Look, I need me some breakfast," Dean said, pointedly walking to his bed. Gathering up his stuff to put in his duffel bag was his way of ending the conversation.

"Yeah, sure."

Dean knew Sam wasn't going to let go that easily, but the kid knew patience was the key to getting Dean to talk. After a while, Dean would crack under Sam's worried glances. He knew it. He knew Sam knew it. He just wasn't even sure what he would say.

~*~

They packed the car and got about a mile up the road to a diner that didn't look like it was from the turn of the century, two centuries prior. Their waiter was a young man about their age, with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes.

"Morning guys! What can I get you?" Despite addressing them both, it was very clear it was only Dean he was looking at.

"Scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes," Dean answered automatically.

"I'll have the same, but swap the bacon for whatever fruit you have," Sam answered.

"Sure thing guys," the waiter said. He eyed Dean up and down one last time before disappearing into the back.

Sam snickered once he was out of earshot. "Looks like you got an admirer," he said.

Dean glared at him. "Shut up, Sam."

Sam just kept up his stupid smug grin, and Dean flicked a packet of sugar at his brother's head.

"Real mature, asshole."

"That's me, Mr. Maturity, right here," Dean muttered darkly. He took the straw wrapper from his drink and started shredding it into tiny flakes of paper on the table.

"So, what happened?" Sam asked. "Did you two get into some kind of fight?"

"No! Well…not really. I'm not…I'm not really sure," Dean admitted. "Maybe?"

"Jesus, over _what_?" Sam said in his most disappointed and annoyed Dad voice.

"Cas, he's been around and he couldn't bother to let us know?" Dean said. He frowned at the pile of shredded paper, as if his confused feelings towards Castiel were its fault. "He just ran off and left us hanging like that? He's acting like a—"

"Like an angel who was both promoted to one of the most powerful positions in Heaven and kicked out of Heaven in the same second? Like an angel that has no idea what he's supposed to be doing but is trying to do something anyway?" Sam suggested hotly, but quietly. There were others in the diner and they didn't want to be overheard.

Dean frowned. "I was going to say he was acting like a dick."

Sam threw his hands up in defeat. "Seriously? You're hopeless Dean."

"Thanks Sam. Can always count on you to make me into the bad guy." Not that Dean needed his younger brother to do that. He was perfectly capable of realizing that on his own. The beers and their resulting hangover proved as much.

"Sometimes the shoe fits," Sam said with a shrug.

"Just…drop it, Sam," Dean said quietly.

Sam slumped back with a disbelieving scoff. "You're _hopeless_ ," he reiterated.

They were spared from further talk as their food arrived. Mr. Waiter gave Dean his food first.

"Uh, thanks," Dean said smoothly. He looked at the man's name tag. "Brian."

"You're welcome," Brian said with a wink.

Dean felt his cheeks blaze to life, and refused to look up again until he was gone.

His stomach growled loudly, and the food in front of him made his mouth water. He was about to dive into his pancakes when the plate shimmered like a mirage. His pancakes disappeared. A BBQ sandwich, dripping so much grease that the bun it sat on was now mush, popped into existence in front of the hunter. It was even sitting in an ash-filled ashtray. Dean actually gagged a little when the smell hit him.

"One hangover cure, order up." Gabriel said with a proud grin. No one else in the diner seemed to notice his sudden and unexplained arrival, sitting in the booth next to the freakishly tall hunter.

"Gabriel," Dean growled, leaning forward. "Give me back my pancakes!"

"Pancakes aren't good for hangovers, though!"

"Pancakes. NOW," Dean snapped. "Or so help me, I'll—"

"Kill me? Come on, Dean, you're starting to sound like a broken record." The archangel rolled his eyes and the disgusting visage immediately changed back into a normal stack of pancakes. Dean poked them and sniffed them suspiciously, but they seemed okay.

"Tasty?" Gabriel asked innocently after Dean ate the first bite.

"Bite me, jackass."

"I'd have to get Cas's permission first," Gabriel said.

Dean almost choked on his mouthful of egg and pancake. Sam shook, and it was obvious he was biting the inside of his mouth in order to not burst into laughter.

"You too Sam!"

"Despite what Chuck's fans seem to think, I'm not—pfft—interested Dean, sorry."

"I hate _both_ of you," Dean growled.

"Duly noted," Gabriel said. He snapped his fingers and a stack of pancakes appeared in front of him. It must have been ten pancakes tall, with a mountain of whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate chips layered between them. He tucked in with gusto.

Dean looked at Gabriel's pancakes, then at his small, plain, sad little plate with a frown.

"Pancake envy?" Gabriel asked with a giggle.

Dean closed his eyes and fought the urge to kick him under the table.

After a few minutes of eating in determined silence, Dean glanced up at the other two. He thanked whatever deity was listening that despite…whatever Sam and Gabriel had going on ( _ew, gross_ ) they weren't into PDA. They didn't kiss, hold hands, snuggle, cuddle, call each other pet names, any of that girly crap. They just acted like guys, and that helped Dean feel slightly less awkward at the booth.

Only slightly though. He swore they were having some sort of conversation via Gabriel's animated eyebrows and Sam's various bitch faces. Eventually Sam's bright red cheeks settled the conversation as he looked away and Gabriel guffawed loudly.

Dean left them alone. Honestly…it was nice to see Sam happy. Content. _Laughing_. His kid brother had had it so hard recently, what with Lucifer's Grace almost killing him and all. Never mind the friggin' _Apocalypse_ they'd managed to thwart.

He was glad for Sam, deep down inside…somewhere. He was just still getting hung up on the fact that it was the very angelic, very _male_ Trickster that putting that dopey grin on Sam's face.

He never thought Sam swung that way. Jess, Sarah, Ruby (both versions) all very much female. Yet he switched teams with barely a thought? That wasn't normal…was it? Then again, Sam was supposed to be Lucifer's suit to the End of Days dance. So, normal didn't apply to his kid brother.

Did it apply to _him_?

Cas's sad eyes flickered in his head again, yet he shook his head. _Not going there, not going there, nope!_

He was straight; he liked women, he liked curves and breasts and long legs and soft mouths…and piercing blue eyes and sexed up brown hair and silk ties-

"You okay, Deano? I thought I saw smoke coming from your ears—don't think too hard or you might break something," Gabriel teased.

Dean flipped the angel off, but was glad for the angelic interruption. His brain would start thinking stupid shit if he wasn't careful 24/7.

"So, what're you kids up to today?" Gabriel asked around pancakes.

"A hunt in Brigham City. A couple warehouse workers were killed in the past month. Crushed under pallets, run over by off machines—seems like a vengeful spirit to me."

"I dunno, Sammy. Construction accidents are par for the course," Dean said. "Doesn't automatically mean pissed-off ghost."

Sam leaned forward so no one could overhear. "Look, a guy named Herald Gerber was killed just two months ago from a falling pallet. The investigation stated that if the company had actually followed its own safety guidelines, the guy would still be alive. And now other people are dying in safety-related accidents?"

Dean gave the Trickster a pointed look. "This sounds like your M.O."

Gabriel held up his hands. "Sorry kiddo. Not ironic enough for me."

"Why don't you think it's a ghost?" Sam asked.

"It's never that simple! It's always something else right at the last second," Dean said. "A demon or a tulpa or something."

"Maybe we'll have a simple one this time," Sam said hopefully.

"I have an idea!" Gabriel said. "Why don't I tag along and supervise?"

Both brothers turned to stare at the Trickster. "Do _what_?" They asked at once.

"Aw, you did your little Doublemint Twins thing, cute," Gabriel chuckled.

"No way!" Dean argued. "I'm not letting you tag along on a hunt!"

"Why not?" Gabriel asked. "You do remember who I am, right? Badass angel/pagan deity here? Handling myself is not a question."

"Dean, he could help us-" Sam started.

"Don't even! The last thing I need is to get killed because you two poofed away in the middle of a hunt because you couldn't keep it in your pants!" Dean hissed angrily.

"I won't interfere unless you ask; you two do you, I'll do me and we'll all survive together." Gabriel said.

"It would be nice to have some back-up," Sam said.

Sam looked at Dean, and Gabriel looked at Dean, and they hit him with the most potent sets of puppy eyes that Dean couldn't even look at them.

He let out a breath, and felt his resolve crumble. "We're in charge, Gabriel, got it?"

Gabriel's grin lit up the whole room; maybe it was because Sam was wearing a matching one. Dean wished he had a pair of nice sunglasses in his pocket.

Gabriel saluted the older Winchester. "Aye, aye, Captain!"

Dean knew he was going to regret the situation, but…dammit, Gabe was an angel, and he was sorta invested in Sam's well-being. Maybe having Gabe watch their backs wouldn't be so bad.

Dean went up to pay for the tab (leaving Sam and Gabe behind) and found Mr. Bright-Eyed-and-Bushy-Tailed was working the register.

"So, enjoy the food?" Brian asked cheerfully.

"Oh, yeah. The pancakes were good," Dean said.

Brain grinned at him and rang up the check. When he wasn't looking, Dean gave the waiter a once over, for curiosity's sake only. He was about Castiel's height, but he didn't have that same otherworldly aura to him. He didn't have that commanding presence that had terrified Dean every time Cas showed up until the angel admitted to rooting for him and Sam.

_I guess he's…cute? A little chunky around the middle for my, uh, hypothetic taste_ , Dean mentally noted. He did a quick subtle check but Little Dean didn't seem too interested in the cheerful waiter. He let out a little breath. Maybe Sam was just the odd man out. He could deal with that.

"Sticking around town today?" Brian asked.

"Uh, no! Just on our way out," Dean said. He scribbled a signature on the receipt and gave Brian a little smile. Now that he had affirmed his utter straightness, he didn't feel so uncomfortable around the other guy.

"Well, if you ever come back through, I usually work mornings," Brian said with a wink. "Feel free to drop back by."

"Totally," Dean said with a little wave as he headed out the door.

It wasn't until he was outside that he realized _Shit that made it sound like I was gonna take him up on that offer!_ But it was too late to go inside and clarify things.

He leaned against the hood of the car and soaked in the mid-morning sun. The parking lot was full of cars, the sky was blue and sunny. It was going to be a nice day for the drive. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

_Goddammit, I need supervision sometimes_ , he admitted to himself. He was torn between going in and clarifying 'Sorry, didn't mean to confuse you, but I'm as straight as a fuckin' arrow,' or just leaving poor Brian to wonder for the rest of his days if the handsome guy in the leather jacket and emerald eyes would ever show back up on his diner's doorstep.

_Sam's sure taking his sweet time to come out_ , Dean decided to focus on instead. He's probably in the bathroom, primping his hair or something.

Or up to something _with Gabriel_.

"Oh, God, why do I _do_ that to myself?" Dean swore, rubbing at his eyes. He'd already had one accidental mental scar from those two; he didn't need to give himself more.

Sam came strolling up to the car. Gabriel was nowhere in sight, which made Dean nervous. They slid into their seats at the same time. As Dean started up the Impala, he reveled in the roar of Baby's finely tuned engine.

"Atta girl," he told the car fondly, patting the dashboard. He looked around the car and then squinted at Sam. "Alright. Where's the annoying one?"

"Since when did you start referring to yourself in the third person, Deanie-Weenie?" Gabriel asked quizzically from the backseat.

Dean glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Don't call me that."

"Oh, sorry. How about Deanis Penis?" Gabriel asked. "Or Deaner Weiner? Isn't it weird that all your nicknames can rhyme with different nicknames for dick? What do you think that _means_?

Dean looked ready to kill the angel.

"Guys, what are you, _five_?" Sam asked with a laugh.

"I'm an adult, thank you," Dean said. "Your angelic _whatever_ , on the other hand…."

"Seems your maturity level begs to differ, _kiddo_."

"Talk to me when you can actually get on a ride at an amusement park, _shorty_."

"Guys!" Sam barked. "We're working, remember? Possible supernatural something killing people? Who we have to go and save?"

Dean and Gabriel shared a fierce glare one more time, until Gabriel slumped in the backseat and pouted. Dean was grinning at his apparent victory, and continued to grin all the way to the main highway. Sam's large hand reached for the radio knob.

Dean frowned. "Driver picks the music, remember?"

"Dean we've listened to those same tapes a thousand times by—"

_"~In the HE~AT OF THE MO~MENT!~"_ The radio blared. Both brothers jumped.

"Sunovabitch!" Dean yelped in surprise. It took everything he had to not jerk the wheel and send them flying into the guardrail or into the other lane of traffic.

"Fuck!" Sam snapped. He twisted the knob to turn it down so hard it almost came off in his large hand.

"What? I thought you guys appreciated the classics," Gabriel quipped from the backseat.

Both hunters swung around and shot him furious expressions, although Sam's went beyond furious to murderous.

"Oh, come on! I thought we were past that by now. Aren't we?"

"No mojoing the Impala!" Dean barked.

" _And never that song_ ," Sam amended.

"You two are going to kill me with all these stupid rules."

"You're welcome to leave Winchesterland whenever you want," Dean told him in a growl. "You've got wings."

"I don, don't I?" Gabriel said, face bright with realization.

Without warning, they weren't cruising down the highway anymore. They were parked in a parking lot of a clean, actually nice looking motel. One that had other cars in the parking lot—a rare sight at the usual dives the brothers stayed in.

Dean and Sam both turned to each other in confusion, then looked out the front windshield to see Gabriel casually leaning against the car. He wiggled his fingers at them, looking pleased with himself.

The brothers got out slowly. "Brigham City?" Sam guessed.

"What did I just say about mojoing my car?" Dean asked hotly.

"Hey, I did you a favor. Two less hours of utter boredom and a hundred miles less wear on your boatmobile," Gabriel said.

Dean stood there, steaming for a second. He hated angels. But he really hated it when this particular angel made a damn good point.

He huffed and opened the trunk to grab his bag. "Let's just get this show on the road."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean came out of the bathroom, buttoning the last button on his crisp white shirt. Sam was also dressed in his usual F.B.I. digs, and was combing his hair in the mirror in their room. Gabriel was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, eating a candy bar and eyeing Sam up and down like he would have rather been eating _him_. 

Dean’s mind momentarily froze. The bouncers in Dean’s mind immediately grabbed that Inappropriate Thought and dragged it to the Vault. It was just a little closet in the back of Dean’s mind, but that’s where bad thoughts went, and so that’s where this little observation was also locked away without the key. There it joined its brother, an image of Sam and Gabriel making out—naked—in a hotel room from a while ago: the Geronimo Incident. 

His mind made safe once again, Dean made a beeline for his suit jacket hanging over the end of the chair. Something felt wrong in their room, he realized. His eyes scanned the room, trying to place what felt out of place. Eventually, his eyes landed on Gabriel.

The only angel that had been in their room regularly most of the past year always stood in the center of the room with a constipated look on his face. He was always frowning, and no matter what temperature it was, he always had his overcoat on. And if he actually sat on a chair or the end of the bed his back was still ramrod straight. He didn’t understand how to relax. 

The room felt weird without Cas in it. 

“Alright, are we ready to go talk to Sheriff Sanderson?” Sam asked. Dean nodded and checked his pockets to make sure he had his fake badge, wallet, and his gun in its shoulder holster. 

Gabriel whistled. “If you’re recruiting, where can I sign up?” He asked as he hopped off the counter and came to stand in front of them. 

Sam smiled, and Dean rolled his eyes. “You can’t tag along looking like a civilian,” Dean said, motioning towards the angel. 

Gabriel looked down and frowned. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders; a shimmer appeared over his body, and he was suddenly in a crisp black suit with a white shirt and peppermint-striped tie. His amber hair was combed back and he had a look of bored authority on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. 

“F.B.I. Agent Erik Odinson?” Dean asked with an arched eyebrow. 

“It’s more subtle than Slash and Van Halen,” Gabriel shrugged.

Dean looked over to see Sam was looking more than a little slack-jawed at the tiny archangel. 

Gabe looked both uncomfortable yet strangely _right_ in that suit. _Is this what he would’ve been like if he’d stuck around in Heaven?_

“You…uh, look good,” Sam stumbled after a moment. 

“Oh Sam, why don’t you tell me how you _really_ feel,” Gabriel snickered. 

“Not while I’m in the room,” Dean growled. A tiny part at the back of his mind did admit that Gabriel cleaned up rather well. “Look, there’s no point in all three of us going to speak to the cops. I’m gonna take the car and poke around the warehouse a bit. You two just…don’t…uh…”

Both Sam and Gabriel looked at him expectantly. Dean felt his cheeks get warmer. 

“Just…you know…don’t _do_ anything, got it?”

“But Dean, if we can’t do _anything_ , how will we talk to the sheriff?” Gabriel asked innocently. 

“You…dammit, you know what I mean!” Dean’s cheeks started to turn pink.

“Don’t worry Deanie, I’ve already packed protection,” Gabriel told him smartly.

Dean looked mortified about this bit of information until the angel opened his suit jacket to expose his angel blade. Gabriel and Sam disappeared while laughing at Dean’s face. 

“I’m really starting to regret not flambéing him when I had the fuckin’ chance,” Dean muttered to himself.

~*~

“Look Agents. I’m all for co-operating with the feds on this,” Sheriff Sanderson said in a tone that conveyed that, actually, he’d wished the Feds had minded their own damn business on this. “But, I’m just not understanding why you’re here. This is what the people of this country are spending tax dollars on? There’s nothing more… _important_ you could be doing?”

The two men in suits glanced at each other. One had long hair (too long, he looked like a hippie to the old Sheriff) and was built like a giant; the other was much shorter but had an air of bored authority around him. 

“Normally, we’d agree with you,” the taller one, Agent Smith, stated. “But, several people have died at the Alton Warehouse within the past few months, starting with Herald Gerber. Since the company is a national conglomerate, we have to see if any suspicious activity here could be widespread.” 

“We just need to see your reports, make a couple calls, and take to a couple people. We’ll more than likely be out of your hair in less than a day,” the shorter man, Agent Odinson said. 

The Sheriff just stared at them for a moment, waiting, seeing which one would look away first. The tall one blinked once. The shorter one had fierce gold eyes that slightly unsettled the policeman. He ended up blinking first, much to his own irritation. 

“Less than a day,” he said with finality. “I’ll be right back gentlemen.” He got up and left the two agents in his office so he could give them the files they wanted and send them on their way. He hated dealing with the Feds, they made his heart burn act up. 

As soon as the door closed behind the sheriff’s back, Sam gave the angel a quizzical look. “What in the world are you snickering about?” He asked. He could feel the angel was laughing through the bond, though his face looked bored and his lips were pursed. It was a weird disconnect, though Sam appreciated the fact that now he always knew what Gabriel was thinking or feeling, no matter what persona he was putting on. 

Gabriel finally grinned and motioned around the office. “This! Normally I’m the thing you guys are trying to get a lead on, figure out my motive and junk. It’s different. More boring than I’d hoped.”

Sam swallowed unconsciously. A bored Gabriel was a _dangerous_ Gabriel. 

“Maybe Dean will turn something up at the warehouse,” Sam offered. 

Gabriel shrugged before leaning over and whispering conspiratorially in Sam’s ear. “By the way, that song? A nice touch. And that thing you whipped up at the diner looked mighty disgusting, too. Just, a, don’t get _too_ carried away? Seeing as I’d like to live to see another day?”

“I thought the whole point of you hanging around was so you could take responsibility for me,” Sam whispered back. 

“Yeah, but Dean knows how to kill me now,” Gabriel pointed out. 

“He won’t. I think he’s a bit…distracted right now.” 

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “Over Cas? I didn’t think he cared so much.” 

“Me neither. I mean, Cas has gone off on his own before, and Dean’s never acted upset. He drank himself into a hangover last night; do you know how much alcohol that would take for _Dean_?”

“Cas and Deanie sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S—“

The door opened and the sheriff returned to see Smith was glaring at Odinson, who was looking smug. He gave the folder of files to Agent Smith and crossed his arms while staring at them. 

“Alright. You got your files, anything else?”

“No sir, thank you sir,” Agent Smith said with a bright smile. With that said the two agents got up, shook hands with him, and walked out. 

“Stupid hippie agents, wasting taxpayer time and money over nothing,” the sheriff muttered to himself. 

~*~

Dean sat in the Impala, watching the warehouse across the street. His eyes didn’t leave the building; his fingers tapped out the rhythm to Rolling Stones ‘Paint It Black’ as it played on the radio. It took everything he had to not start playing his trusty air guitar, but he figured it might look a little weird. And FBI agent jamming out to classic rock—hell, he could think of a few worse things he could do while impersonating an agent. 

Waving his badge around and walking with confident authority could work magic when it came to getting what he wanted. Hell, Dean always had had a knack for getting information out of people, as well as talking himself into and out of trouble. He remembered the good ol’ days when he could talk himself right onto a crime scene while dressed in very clearly civilian clothes. U.S. Marshals, _really_? He wouldn’t have believed that if he was a cop and saw his younger self walking onto a scene. 

As much as he sometimes hated the stuffy clothes, he secretly liked the suit. It had grown on him. He liked that he could flash some metal and people would suddenly open up about almost anything. And, let’s be honest here, Dean knew he cut a good figure in the suit as well. 

Dean worked his magic and talked to supervisors and co-workers and other witnesses. Most of the supervisors were useless and talked about their safety programs and yadda-yadda, only to balk when Dean pointed out how people seemed to be dying despite those state-of-the-art features and well, wouldn’t you look at that, I’ve got to go do important business things and off they’d go. 

The co-workers and witnesses were less useless. Oh yeah, pallets moved during the night when the warehouse was closed, or the keys to forklifts disappeared, or random puddles of frozen water would appear in high-traffic areas. One person though they had seen ol’ Herald behind a pallet that flipped over and almost killed someone, but that was _impossible_ , right?

Looked like this would be a cut-and-dry case after all. 

~*~

Dean stopped for a moment and wiped the sweat from his brow. He stabbed the head of the shovel into the ground and leaned on the handle, frowning up at the Trickster. Gabriel was sitting cross-legged on top of the tombstone like some odd Peter Pan parody, looking down at the hunters in their hole.

“You know,” Dean started as Sam continued working. “You could, oh I don’t know, _help us_.”

Gabriel frowned and pulled his blue lollipop from his mouth. “I’m not one for manual labor,” Gabriel said with an unapologetic shrug. “Besides, I’m on look-out duty, remembered?”

“Digging up graves is not fun. It’s tiring and dirty and would go a lot faster _if you helped_ ,” Dean pointed out. His clothes were stained with sweat and dirt, which helped to reiterate his point. 

“You two look like you’ve got things under control. Besides, how else is Sam supposed to keep those delicious muscles in shape?” Gabriel asked with a snicker. 

Dean pointed at him. “Keep saying shit like that and you’re _asking_ to end up in the bottom of this hole!”

“You’re about as much fun as a rabid hydra, Winchester,” Gabriel grumbled. 

After a moment of sullen silence, Sam looked up to see Gabriel had disappeared. With an aggravated sigh, he paused to run the back of his hand across his brow.

“Can’t you just get along for 5 minutes?” Sam asked in a huff. 

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean growled. “I’m tired. I’m hungry, and I’m digging up a grave of a pissed off fat guy so we can burn his bones. Let’s just get this over with.”

They opened the grave and were dismayed to find not bones, but a whole stinking, rotting corpse in the coffin. Despite it not being the first recently deceased person the Winchesters had to burn, it didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable. After he doused it in lighter fluid, Dean tossed in Herald’s clothes that had been left in a locker at the warehouse.

The cherry on top of this particularly unpleasant sundae appeared right then in the shape of a pissed off Mr. Gerber in the spectral flesh. Apparently he didn’t appreciate the impromptu cremation, seeing as he viciously rammed into Sam into the hole, right on top of the lighter fluid-soaked clothing and the rotting body. Then he turned on Dean.

Dean swung his iron shovel at the ghost like a lumberjack and the ghost disappeared for a moment. It was just enough time for Sam to scramble out of the hole (covered in disgusting clumps and mysterious stains that Dean didn’t want to even _think_ about). Sam had to jog several feet away before Dean tossed the disposable lighter into the grave; he really didn’t want to catch his younger brother on fire by accident.

The air filled with the stench of rotting meat and burnt flesh. The boys gagged their way through shoveling the dirt back into the grave. Luckily the grave was new—nobody would question why it looked recently dug up. A few hours later, tired sore and stinking to both high Heaven and the lowest Pit, they returned to the motel room. 

Dean laid a towel across the Impala’s front seat, even though he knew he was going to have to Febreeze the fuck out of the car before they rode in it again. Hunting was not a clean-linen smelling type of job, unless you had stock in an air freshener company. If you ever saw a car with a thousand of those little car trees hanging from the rear-view mirror, it was a good bet they were either slobs, drug-runners, or hunters. 

As they drove down the dark highway, Sam groaned in distress. It was obvious he knew there were clumps of something in his air, and he wanted to pull them out, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to touch anything. 

“You could just buzz it short. Save yourself the grief,” Dean said with a smirk. Sam just glared at him. “Just a suggestion, bitch.”

“Fuck off, jerk,” Sam grumbled. 

“We’re getting too old for this shit,” Dean said as they drove home. 

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, well, what else do we have?”

Sam had said it jokingly, but Dean actually looked contemplative. “I dunno. There’s gotta be something, right?”

That came outta nowhere. “What’re you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Dean said quickly shutting down. 

“Dean, if you’ve got something on your mind—“

“It was nothing Sam,” he said harshly, ending the conversation before it even began. He looked at Sam and shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

~*~

Dean allowed Sam to shower first out of pity—even he wasn’t dick enough to make Sam wait around for him with little bits of rotting flesh on his shirt and in his hair. 

After using up all the hot water and then some, Dean was able to convince Sam to go with him out to find a bar for some celebratory drinks. (“Hey, we survived, that counts as something to celebrate!”)

They only had to drive a few miles down the road to find a place open at the late hour. There were a few empty seats at the bar. Dean ordered a shot of whiskey from the older bartender (male, unfortunately, and not something Dean would even be remotely curious to try anything on). Sam didn’t order anything. 

“Come on, Sammy, just one ain’t gonna kill you,” Dean muttered. 

Sam shook his head. “If we’re both plastered, who’s going to get us back to the hotel in one piece?”

“What about your celestial taxi-driver boyfriend?” Dean said. “Seems perfectly fine at dropping us of wherever the hell he wants.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re the only guy I know who would bitch about instantaneous teleportation.”

“Hey, I just don’t like to ride the friendly skies. Any kind of friendly skies. Angel, airplane, doesn’t matter. Remember that first demon case we had, almost dropped clear outta the sky at 30,000 feet? Or how about the fact that Cas friggin’ _dropped_ you trying to haul your sorry butt out of Cartage?”

“Speaking of Cas, you still mad at him?” Sam asked. 

Dean shrugged. He could feel the alcohol churning in his stomach. “I don’t know. Not really, I guess. We just…”

“Flew off the handle,” Sam offered. 

“Yeah. Wasn’t really mad to begin with anyway. Just confused. He was doing his Heavenly riddle-talk again. I thought he was up to something and after all the crap we went through…” 

Sam nodded. Suddenly, his cellphone in his pocket went off. “Hey, sorry, gotta take this,” Sam said before heading out the front door. Dean nodded and waved him away. 

The bartender refilled his drink and Dean sipped on it, taking pleasure in the way it stung on the way down. It was like when he walked away from a case with scrapes and bruises—the sting of a job well done. 

A familial voice cleared its raspy throat behind him. “Hello Dean.”

The hunter didn’t jump, but he did turn around in surprise and spied Castiel, in all his nerdy glory, standing behind him looking at him with a furrowed brow. 

Dean was surprised, to say the least. “Oh, uh, hey Cas.”

Cas looked around the bar, scanning the room for enemies. Satisfied, he looked back at the hunter. “What did you want to see me about?” He asked in a brisk, clipped tone.

Dean blinked in confusion. “Do what?”

The angel sighed in exasperation. “Sam called and left me a message saying you wished to speak to me on a matter of import and to meet you here. Although, if it was so important, why didn’t you call or pray to me directly?”

_Was that a fake phone call? Sam, you meddling bastard_ , Dean swore mentally. The kid never could mind his own damn business. 

“Do you know where Sam is?” Dean asked. 

Cas looked around. “The car is currently parked outside, but your brother is not in the immediate area. He appears to be with Gabriel.”

_Gabriel’s taxi-service strikes again_ , Dean thought. So, Sam called in Cas and ditched him without a word? What a dick! It almost felt like a set-up…

“Dean?” Cas asked, clearly growing impatient. “What’s going on?”

Though his eldest brother pride was rattled, he realized this actually might have been a good thing. A chance to set things straight before they got too stupid like they usually did. He’d still have to kick Sam’s ass though. Just to make a point about the meddling. 

“Oh, right. I…um…thought you might not answer me?” Dean suggested.

Cas pursed his lips just a touch. “A wise notion.” Okay, so the angel was still grumpy. But the fact that Cas was _here_ , willing to hear Dean out, must’ve meant _something_. 

“I wanted to say that…uh, I kinda misspoke last night,” Dean said hesitantly. “Didn’t mean to jump all over you. Still getting used to the idea of an angel actually looking out for us little guys, you know? So, uh, my bad.”

Cas studied him for a long moment. Dean felt like the angel was staring at his soul, and he very well could’ve been, and he started to squirm. 

Eventually the angel blinked. “I understand. Thank you for…clarifying,” he said. The edge of his lips twitched in amusement at Dean’s roundabout apology. 

The tension that had been between him and Cas seemed to dissipate enough for Dean to give him a relieved grin. He motioned at the empty bar stool next to him. “Pull up a seat, Cas. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“It won’t have any effect on me,” Cas pointed out, but he still sat in the seat anyway. When the bartender came up to Cas, the angel motioned at Dean’s drink. 

“I’ll have triple of whatever he’s having,” Cas said. 

“Triple?” The bartender said in surprise. 

“Go for broke why doncha,” Dean muttered. 

“It’s been a long day,” Cas told the bartender. When the man kept staring at him, he cleared his throat. “Please.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t overdo it,” Dean promised. 

As they waited for the bartender to come back, silence filled the air between them. It wasn’t quite the same as if Sam was sitting next to him (mostly because Sam doesn’t shut up sometimes) but there was still a sense of comradery between the hunter and angel. 

He normally would’ve been worried about Sam’s sudden disappearance, but if there was one thing he had to grudgingly admit too, it was the fact that Gabriel did seem invested in Sam’s general well-being. That fact helped him relax as he waited for the drinks. The fact that Cas wasn’t acting nervous either also helped.

The bartender reappeared with four shots of whiskey, three of which he lined up in front of Castiel. “Bottoms up,” he said with a shrug before he moved on to his other customers. 

Without hesitation Cas tossed back one, then two, then the third shot of whiskey in quick succession. As he had learned while drinking with the Harvelles, he flipped his shot glass over when he put it back on the counter. 

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed. 

“An oxymoron,” Cas commented to himself. He blinked and sat very still for a moment, then turned to Dean. “As I said, no effect.”

Dean waved at the bartender. “Another order for both of us,” he said to the man. 

“Look, buddy, I’d rather not have to call the ambulance for your dumb ass,” the bartender said, pointing at Castiel.

“My ass is not dumb,” Castiel argued in a huff. 

Dean put a twenty dollar bill on the table and pushed it towards the bartender. “Just do as he says. He’s a top dog now, you know,” Dean said, winking at the man. 

The bartender put three more shots in front of Cas and one more in front of Dean. Dean’s drink was forgotten as he watched Cas down them all without a moment’s pause. 

“Dude, I want to see you do that with Purple Nurples! Those will fuck you up,” Dean spoke from experience. 

“A purple _what_?”

“Nurple. Almost hurts as much as the real thing.” Cas continued to look lost, but was still politely listening to the human. “It’s when you grab someone’s nip and twist it super hard. Hurts like hell! Hey, you should keep that in mind in case you gotta defend yourself.”

Cas scoffed. “That’s why I have my sword.”

Dean tapped the side of his temple. “Just remember just in case.” His words were a little slow, and he felt giddy from the pleasant buzz.

“I’ll remember,” Castiel promised. 

Dean leaned in close to Cas and stared at his eyes. “Feelin’ anything yet?” The hunter asked seriously.

“Uh…perhaps a little,” Cas admitted. He didn’t seem bothered by Dean’s sudden intrusion of his personal space. Cas stared back at the hunter. “Dean, are you…seeing pink elephants yet?”

Dean giggled. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

“Gabriel. It’s another phrase for being intoxicated.”

“I know what it means, Cas. And no, I’m not seeing any type of elephants. But there is a big ass T-Rex in the corner over there…”

When the angel turned around to look at the corner of the bar Dean had vaguely motioned towards, the hunter laughed out loud. “Gotcha,” Dean said when Cas turned back, obviously confused. He put a hand on Cas’s shoulder and squeezed it in good humor. “Just kidding!”

“How many drinks have you had?” Cas asked him. 

Dean waved away his question. “Not that much. I’m fine.” 

Cas gave him a disbelieving look. 

The human looked into his empty glass. “Listen, Cas, I don’t know what you did or whatever, but…well, I understand mistakes. Believe me, I’m not one to judge. If you ever need some advice or anything….”

Cas frowned. “It’s nothing you can help with, Dean.” 

“Can’t say I didn’t try.”

Dean felt his happy vibes started to drift out of his grasp, and the exhaustion setting in. He stood up and left a Ben Franklin on the counter tucked under his glass. He fumbled trying to get his keys out of his pocket and stumbled a bit on the way to the door. He hadn’t thought he’d drank _that_ much. 

Cas fell in step beside him until they got outside and he stumbled again on the way to the Impala. Cas caught him by the elbow and steadied the human. He narrowed his eyes in slight concern. “Dean, are you safe to drive?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just down the road,” Dean argued. 

“What if I take you back to the motel?”

“No way, and leave my Baby here all alone? What if some assholes chop-shop her?”

Castiel stood and watched as Dean finally unlocked the door and slide into the car. “I need to teach you how to drive,” Dean said. 

“I can fly. I don’t need to know how to operate a vehicle.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Dean said. Cas leaned over and reached in through the open window and touched Dean’s forehead with a sigh of exasperation. 

Dean blinked and he was sitting on his bed in his motel room. Not in his car’s driver’s seat. Angel air always made him feel a little queasy, but combining that with the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach and he fell over with a pained groan. He curled up into a ball on the bed and moaned. “Dammit, Cas….” 

“It was an unnecessary risk you didn’t need to take, Dean,” Castiel admonished gently. “You’re too self-destructive for your own good. The car is safely parked outside your door.”

“And sometimes you’re a pain in the neck,” Dean muttered back. He knew he needed to take his boots and jacket off but he found himself too tired to move. 

Suddenly his boots were gone, as was his jacket. He rolled over to see Cas was hanging his jacket up on a little hanger in their tiny closet. He moaned again and found Cas was crouched down next to the bed, a few inches from his face, staring at him. 

“S’not polite to stare,” Dean mumbled, eyes closed. He felt the sleep creeping up on him like a gentle wave. 

_He’s right there…a real ol’ Angel of the Lord, just like Mom used to say. How cool is that? If I moved jus’ a little I could even kiss him…not that I wanna kiss him or anythin’. I’m just noticing how close he is._

Unbeknownst to Dean, a look of slight surprise passed over Castiel’s face. After a second it returned to its usual stoic expression and he again touched two fingers to Dean’s head. The hunter dropped off into a dreamless, restful sleep. 

When he opened his eyes again, early morning sunshine was shining through the shifting blinds, moving as if something had flown the coop just before he’d woken up….


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean finally blinked awake in the early morning, he woke up permeated with an amazing feeling of well-being. He stretched and a smile etched itself onto his face. Even as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he was grinning like an idiot. 

He felt awesome. He had slept for eight hours without a single nightmare or anything. He didn’t have any sort of hangover or headache, and best of all, Cas wasn’t mad at him anymore! _I did shots with an Archangel, now that’s just awesome!_

Emerald eyes darted around his room, and his smile faltered a bit. The other bed next to him was empty and undisturbed. He was alone in the room, and he felt strangely vulnerable because of it. Sam was almost always by his side, and normally when he wasn’t it was because he was in trouble or they had a huge fight of some sort. 

With Sam spending more and more time with Gabriel, Dean was starting to feel his abandonment issues raising its ugly head in his brain. 

“Oh, no, today is going to be a _good_ day,” he sternly told himself. He got up, stretched again, and proceeded to wake up with a few minutes of push-ups and sit-ups. He felt energized and ready for the day. He decided to indulge in a nice hot shower since Sam wasn’t there. 

The hot water normally felt good against aching muscles, but Dean didn’t have any this morning. He watched the soap run down his arms and legs and reveled in the fact that he was sore and achy, per usual. 

_Cas must’ve mojoed me last night_ , he realized. _That’s why I feel so swell._ Normally he’d give any angel a piece of his mind about mojoing him for any reason besides “You were dead or dying,” but he decided that, to wake up like this, it would be okay to let this one time slide. 

When he remembered Cas staring at him from just a few inches away and his drunk observation, he barked out an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, at least he wasn’t reading my mind right then, that might’ve lead to some awkward shit later on,” Dean said to himself. 

_Cas had been just a few inches away. His hair was messy, his lips drawn in the usual line of stoic inexpression, and those eyes…._

Dean’s dick gave an interested twitch. 

Dean looked down at his penis with a look of horrified betrayal on his face.

“Oh no,” he said in a warning tone. “Just because I woke up without a hangover doesn’t mean _you’re_ allowed to start thinking stupid things!”

When he actively thought about Castiel in all his nerdy angelic glory and his dick didn’t move, he decided the stern warning had done its job.

But, it was easy to understand why his dick had gotten confused. A Happy Dean usually meant a happy dick (or vice versa) and Dean was in a pretty good mood. Also, he hadn’t gotten laid in a hell of a long time. 

“That’s it! Tonight’s gonna break my bad luck streak!” Dean decided. His dick twitched in agreement.

~*~

There was a knock at the motel door and a moment’s pause before Sam’s large frame filled the doorway. The smaller archangel followed him inside, and both found Dean tugging on his long-sleeve shirt with an actual smile on his face. 

“Hey, morning!” Dean said cheerfully. 

Gabriel and Sam looked at each other in confusion. “What’s wrong with him?” Gabriel asked in a loud whisper.

“Is he a shifter or is he possessed?” Sam whispered back. 

Dean narrowed his eyes at them. “I’m just in a good mood, I’m not deaf!” 

“Why?” Gabriel asked, stealing one of the tiny seats. He put his feet up on the small table in their room and balanced backwards in the chair. 

Dean shrugged. “Do I need a reason?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Sam said. 

“Look, maybe I just woke up and realized, holy shit, a month ago we were about to die and it was the end of the fucking world. Instead, Satan kicked the bucket, the planet didn’t go nuclear, and we’re all alive.” 

Sam smirked. “Sounds like a good enough reason to me!” 

“Also, stick your nose in my business again, Sammy, and I’ll relocate it to the other side of your big melon,” Dean added. 

Sam gave him his best ‘I’m an innocent puppy and you just kicked me’ face. “What did I do?”

“You tricked Cas into showing up at the bar last night!” 

“Oh, _now_ I see why you’re so chipper,” Gabriel chuckled. Dean glowered at him for a moment.

“So, you and Cas are okay again?” Sam asked. 

There was no point in arguing with his litter brother. What was done was done, and for once it was a good thing Sammy ended up doing. “Yeah, he seems less twitchy now.”

“Nothing good comes from a twitchy archangel,” Gabriel said sagely. “Accidental earthquakes, mass destruction, a fake moon landing…I could go on.” 

With a snap of his fingers Sam’s bed was turned into a table with three seats and three sets of plates and cutlery. 

“Except for awesome breakfast spreads, of course! Who wants bacon-filled pancakes?”

~*~

It was a warm day, full of blue sky, fluffy clouds, and bright sunshine. Dean paused and stood a step back from the Impala’s side to admire her once again. No matter how many times he saw her, he always managed to fall back in love with the old car whenever she was all fixed up and gleaming in the sunlight. 

“She’s a real thing of beauty, isn’t she?” Dean said proudly.

Sam leaned over in the front seat to look out the window at him. “So when’re you gonna invite her to the Prom?” he asked. 

“Bite me, buttmunch,” Dean said with a laugh. Sam shook his head and went back to vacuuming the inside of the car. 

They found a DIY carwash in town and were giving Ol’ Faithful some much-needed TLC. Washing and fixing the car were always therapeutic in Dean’s mind, and he felt himself relax as the road dust was washed away from her black exterior. 

The vacuum stopped and Sam climbed out of the car. “I think I got it all,” he said while stretching.

Dean leaned in through the open driver’s side window and took a deep whiff. Sam was thorough—no icky smell of death or rotten meat or even lighter fluid. There was a little air freshener in one of the vents in the dashboard that smelled lightly of pine. It just looked and smelled clean and homey.

“Not bad Sammy,” Dean said. “Now it doesn’t smell like your armpits anymore.”

“Such a veritable wit,” Sam said. 

“I know. I should write a book.” The small carwash was empty since it was early afternoon on a weekday, so he popped open the trunk and tossed a water bottle to Sam out of the cooler. Sam came around and sat next to them. He sat on the bumper and admired the beautiful day. 

“Where’d Gabe go?” Dean asked. 

“Who knows,” Sam said. “I’m not really his keeper.” 

“So, he’s probably out torturing or murdering some poor bastard?” Dean asked stiffly.

Sam could see his brother getting angry. “No, no, he swore he wouldn’t do anything deadly or ‘permanently maiming.’ But, can’t really take the tricks out of a Trickster, you know? Best to let him just get it out of his system when he’s not around us.”

Dean wanted to argue, knock it into Sam’s thick skull that Gabriel was dangerous and they really should’ve offed him when they had the chance—

_He saved Sam’s life. He went after Sam at Carthage. He saved Jo’s life after leaving us high and dry. He wouldn’t be trying so hard if he was going back to his old ways. Come on, Dean, forgive and forget. If Sam can do it, so can you. Remember, we saved the world!_

“So, uh, what about Cas?” Sam asked. “Know what he’s up to?”

Dean only shrugged. “Nah. He disappeared last night. Angels, man, always up to something.”

Sam nodded in agreement. For a few moments, there was just serene peace, rare for the Winchesters. There was a reason it was such a rarity. 

“Dean, you had something on your mind yesterday,” Sam said casually. 

“I had a lot of stuff on my mind yesterday, Sam.” 

“You know what I’m talking about. That little comment on the way back from the cemetery.”

Dean took a swallow of water and shrugged. Normally he kept such things to himself but today…well, it was a good day. He felt lighter, less weighed down and depressed. 

“Dealing with that ghost yesterday just…man, after the crap with the Apocalypse and Lucifer and Michael, that ghost was kind of anticlimactic, you know? I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Sam nodded in solidarity. “There’s always been something we were chasing. Or something that was chasing us.”

“And now we’re Winchesters without a Cause. I mean, what do we do now? Every reason we had to stay in the game…isn’t much of a reason anymore.” Dean finished. He’d spent his whole life chasing down Yellow-Eyes, and then trying to run from Hell, then trying to stop the Apocalypse and not end up as an angelic rental tux. And now? 

The past was mostly forgiven and gone, the future still a blank slate. One that was a bit more positive-looking than the usual doom-and-gloom that had dictated most of their lives. 

It was downright terrifying.

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking. “We adapt. Try something different.” 

“What, you mean like you back to Stanford, finish your degree?” He tried not to sound bitter, but knew it sounded whiny if nothing else. 

The idea of Sam taking off again made his chest hurt. It had hurt last time, hurt so badly that Dean had said some things that night he still regretted years later. After everything that they had been through, Sam and Bobby were the only family Dean had left. They had gone through everything for each other, gone to literal Hell for each other. 

_What the hell would I do without my copilot?_

Sam sighed. “You really think I could go to Stanford like a normal guy, knowing I was supposed to be the Devil’s vessel? No, I don’t think so. I tried to be normal once. Look how well that worked out.” 

“The way I see it, you’re either in the game or out of it,” Dean said. “What else is there?”

“We could…take a break for a while,” Sam slowly suggested. 

“A break? And do what, exactly?” Dean asked. “You honestly think we should just leave innocent people to die because we’re feeling lazy?”

“We’re not the only hunters in the country, Dean. The world didn’t end when I was at Stanford and not hunting,” Sam pointed out. 

“What’s because Dad and I picked up your slack.”

“Excuse me?” 

Dean opened his mouth but closed it. He hadn’t meant to do that, but it seemed if Dean had any sort of talent, it was opening his mouth and inserting his foot so far down his mouth his stomach would start digesting it. _Shit, I was in such a good mood too!_

Sam crossed his arms and glowered at his brother. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Sam didn’t say anything, he simply got up and got into the passenger seat, slamming the heavy door a little harder than Dean figured was necessary. He rubbed the back of his neck and kicked a rock in annoyance. _Me and my big mouth._

~*~

The ride back to the motel room was tense, to say the least. Sam steadfastly stared out the passenger side window. Dean tapped the rhythm of ‘Renegade’ on the steering wheel, trying to pretend Sam’s stewing wasn’t bothering him. 

Sam coughed into his hand and Dean’s stomach felt a little queasy. It gurgled loudly in some kind of protesting fashion. He laid a hand on his stomach and groaned. “Ow….!”

“What?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Dean’s stomach flip-flopped a little more; he felt really bloated and gross. “Dude, somethin’s not agreein’ with me…”

There was a tightening in his midriff, like a cramp in his abs that wasn’t going away. “Ow, shit!”

“Dean, pull over if you’re gonna be sick!” Sam said in a panicked voice.

Dean pulled the car off to the side of the road. He felt he was being pumped full of air by a bicycle pump like in a cartoon. Except in cartoons, when people got pumped up too much, they usually explo—

_BRRRAAAAAPPPP!!!!!!_

“Oh, my God!” Sam yelped in shock. He fumbled with the door handle and shoved the door open so hard he fell out of the car onto the grass next to the road. “Dean!” 

“Holy shit!” Dean swore as he flopped out of the driver side door, coughing violently.

“Jesus, Dean, was that a fart or a _nuclear bomb?_ ” Sam asked as the fumes hit him. He stuffed his nose into the crook of his elbow and his eyes were watering. He moved on his belly around to the back of the car, hoping he was crawling under the stink cloud his brother had released. 

Sam got up and stumbled a few feet away, staring at the car like it might explode. Dean had managed to get away too, a mixture of embarrassment, pain, and horrified confusion on his features. 

Sam gagged. “It smells worse than you did after that all-you-can-eat Taco Tuesday buffet we stopped at!”

“That was _one_ time, Sam, and you weren’t doing so well holding his rice and beans either,” Dean shot back. “He’s _dead_ Sam! My poor car….”

“Gabriel didn’t do this,” Sam said, motioning towards the car. “He’s not here.”

“He could mojo me from Antarctica if he felt like it!” Dean said hotly. His butt actually hurt from the blast.

“He’s a sadistic prick, he likes to see his victims suffer up close and personal,” Sam said, looking around. “He’d already be rolling around and laughing his ass off if he were here.”

Dean scowled at him, a dangerous shadow passed over his face. “Then you did something, didn’t you!”

“Yeah Dean, I mojoed you into stink-bombing your own car,” Sam said. Despite the rotten egg/gym socks/ode du skunk coming from the car (so potent they could taste it in the back of their mouths) Sam managed to roll his eyes. 

“Then one of you slipped something into the pancakes!” 

“Then why aren’t I--?”

“Shut up, Sam!”

Dean groaned and sat down heavily on the side of the road. He hissed as he landed on his ass—holy crap that fucking _hurt_ \--and buried his head in his hands. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”

Sam let out a sigh, seeing his dejected brother slumped there. He sprinted to Dean’s driver side (holding his breath the whole time) and grabbed the keys to open the trunk. He dug around inside it for a moment before letting out a triumphant sound. Dean turned around to see him holding up a can of Febreeze. 

“Emergency stash,” Sam said proudly, until his face fell slightly. “Um…it was all they had…” he showed the can to Dean, who visibly shuddered.

The hunter looked at the can, then at his car, and then sighed in defeat. “Go for it.”

A few minutes of furious spraying and airing out later, and the Winchesters climbed back into the car. They were immediately enveloped in a cloud of ‘Springtime Wonder.’

“Chicks dig flowers,” Dean told himself as he started the car. “Least we’ll be a hit with the ladies, right?” He gripped the steering wheel tight and tried to brace up his crumbling sense of dignity as they got back onto the road. 

Sam sniffed. “Is that…lavender?”

“Lilac,” Dean immediately corrected him. He could see Sam staring at him. “Perfume, man, I”ve smelled it on chicks…their perfume.”

“Sure, Dean.”

His crumbling dignity completely crumbled into dust. 

~*~

“Oh my…my….Father above….hahahahaha!”

“It wasn’t that funny,” Sam said in a huff, arms crossed over his chest. 

His mate, the Archangel Gabriel, was currently rolling around the floor with tears streaming down his face and was close to hyperventilating from lack of air. Not that such a thing would’ve really mattered to the angel. 

“Are you kidding me? You stink-bombed him with you stupid ass _still inside the car!_ Hahaha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time, Winchester. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one…guess you were running on _fumes_ with that idea, huh?”

“I was just trying to give him some cramps or something,” Sam said. “He was being a jerk.”

“And that’s why I’m going to win our little bet,” Gabriel said, sitting up and wiping away the tears. “I have better imagination and better control of my Grace. But, considering he didn’t explode like a Looney Tunes cartoon, I guess you’re getting a better hang of it.”

Sam flopped down on his bed in the empty motel room. Dean had decided to take a walk down the corner gas station once they got back. He was convinced the Impala was mad at him; he didn’t feel comfortable driving her after such a heinous violation of her person. Thus, he had walked to the gas station to try and find something to give the Impala for an apology.

Gabriel appeared next to him, still smirking like he had every right in the world to wear that haughty look. He sniffed once and gagged loudly. “You’re not allowed to come home unless you take at least ten showers,” he proclaimed. 

“You let Rascal come home after he tried to hump a skunk,” Sam argued. 

“Rascal didn’t know any better,” Gabriel said in his furry companion’s defense. 

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. “Well, since he’s not here, I’m going to take a shower now.”

“Can I join you?” Gabriel asked, excitement and a bit of mischief on his face. 

“If Dean catches us—“

“Don’t worry about Deanie-Weenie,” Gabriel cut him off with a hot, sloppy kiss that was all tongue and lust. “Shower, now!” Gabriel ordered. Sam shivered. 

~*~

Dean was gone about 45 minutes, and he returned with a brown bag in his arms. He stopped at the side of the car and patted the Impala’s hood. “I’m really sorry about earlier,” he said sincerely. He fished around in the bag and pulled out several packages of Little Tree air fresheners. “So, um…sorry about earlier. To be fair, though, it wasn’t my fault completely. I know Sam or Gabe or both of them had something to do with it, and I’ll let you run over the guilty party when I figure out who did it.” 

The car sat there and Dean put down the bag, crawled into the seat, and hung up one of the air fresheners from the rear-view mirror. He had decided his penance was going to be having to inhale the girliest scent he could find. He took a whiff and sighed. Instead of hating it, he actually _liked_ the Lilac freshener. 

It appeared Dean was terrible at self-immolation. 

He grabbed his stuff and walked up to the door of his room, pounding loudly on it several times just in case. After a solid ten seconds, he opened the door while bellowing “Sam, I’m coming in and you better be descent!” 

When Dean walked in, he was pretty sure he was hallucinating, or at the very least got the wrong room. Or building entirely. 

Their room as suddenly a bar. Complete with a counter and row of stools at the back next to the bathroom and a pool table in the middle. Sam was bent over making a shot. Gabriel was standing next to him and poking him in the side in his pool stick trying to make him miss. Standing in the middle of the room was Castiel, who was quizzically staring at his own pool stick. 

“What the freakin’ hell?” Dean asked as he closed the door behind him. He was so confused, yet he was already accepting the insanity that popped into existence whenever Gabriel was around. 

Sam made the shot, and the striped ball went into the pocket easily. Gabriel moaned and Sam grinned. “Ha!” the hunter said and poked Gabriel in retaliation. 

“Alright, alright, you’re descent for a mortal,” Gabriel allowed. 

“Hey Dean,” Sam greeted. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, frowning at the balls on the table.

“Well, I guess the 6-oack I bought is now useless,” Dean said, shoving his bag in the room’s small mini-fridge. “So, what exactly is going on?”

“There’s no good bar in the area so I decided I’d make my own!” Gabriel said. With a snap another Gabriel, complete with slicked-back hair, a mustache and dressed as a prohibition-era barkeep, appeared behind the counter. 

“Whatcha drinking?” The double asked him. 

“Whiskey?” Dean asked. 

A glass appeared in front of him; for an illusion, it tasted descent enough. He chuckled at Cas’s face. 

“I didn’t think you were a billiards kind of guy, Cas,” Dean said. 

The angel shook his head. “I’m not. Gabriel said it was a matter of importance I meet you here. No offense, Dean, but games with balls and sticks are not that important.”

Dean closed his eyes but he could hear Gabriel snickering under his breath. “Hey, that’s our livelihood you’re crapping on! Monster-hunting isn’t a well-paying job, you know.”

“As I said, no offense.”

“Come on, Cas, maybe you’d like to pull that stick outta your ass and use that one?” Gabriel said, elbowing him the side, yet the angel didn’t move. 

“Come on, guys, lighten up! You beat Dad’s plan and the world survived. Let’s have some fun!” Gabriel whined. “Cas, how about a game of darts? Bet I could beat you at that.”

Castiel nodded. “You probably could. You have more fighting experience than me.”

Gabriel groaned. “Cas, you’re hopeless. Come on.” With that, Gabriel dragged Castiel over to a wall with a dartboard, a devilish grin on his face.

Sam handed Gabriel’s stick to Dean. “He can’t stand the fact he was losing,” Sam said with a chuckle. “Come on, loser buys the winner the next round.”

“Not sure how much fun this is gonna be with imaginary alcohol,” Dean mumbled but he helped set up the balls for a new game. 

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Sam said, shooting him a confident smile that Dean hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“Fine. Just don’t go crying to Gabe when I had you your ass on a silver platter.”

~*~

“Corner pocket,” Dean said with a smug grin. He barely even lined up the shot before hitting the cue ball with practiced ease, sinking the 1 ball in the pocket he’d called. 

“That was luck,” Sam said. 

“That’s right, be jealous of the true master,” Dean said smugly. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned down to make his own shot. 

Dean’s eyes drifted over to Gabriel and Castiel across the ‘bar.’ They were both staring at the dartboard and seemed to be arguing in a hushed manner. 

He leaned down and whispered furiously in Sam’s ear. “By the way, Sammy, knock it off with the Cas thing!” 

Sam missed the ball completely and shot Dean a furious glare. “What are you talking about?” He sounded legitimately confused. 

“Last night you sicked Cas on me, and don’t try to deny it. And now Gabriel suddenly drags Cas here for no reason?” Dean whispered, trying to keep the angels from hearing him.

Sam crossed his arms. “Dean, did you ever think that maybe this had nothing to do with you?”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, maybe I said something last night because there’s no point in being mad over a misunderstanding,” Sam admitted, rubbing his neck. “But Gabe? Maybe he wants to try and make amends with Cas, too. They are brothers after all.”

“Angels don’t care about crap like that.” 

Sam’s face fell slightly. “They care more than they let on, Dean.” 

He huffed, and looked at Cas and Gabriel arguing, seeing the mirrored images of his and Sam’s own heated debates over sports and movies.

“Hey, Sam, when I was out, I was thinking. Maybe you had a point earlier.” 

Sam finally sank the ball in the pocket and pulled out his cellphone. “Wait, I need to record this moment for posterity.”

“Bitch.” Dean managed to hit the wrong colored ball and swore under his breath. “You know what? You’re right. Even Gabe had a point earlier. We saved the friggin’ world, Sammy! We deserve to do something different, something _fun_.”

“Never thought I’d hear you agree! So, what do you want to do?” Sam asked, plainly curious. 

He opened his mouth, but Gabriel’s voice overrode him. “Hey, Winchesters! We need a professional opinion here.”

Curious, the brothers strode over to the angels that were staring intently at the dartboard on the wall. “Which dart is closer to the center?” 

The humans started at the dartboard with wide eyes and slack jaws. “Um…seriously?” Sam asked. 

“Who Robin Hooded who?” Dean asked in unconscious awe.

In the middle of the dart board were two metal darts—or at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. Instead, one dart had made the bull’s-eye only to be split down the middle by a second dart that had then fused the two together into a lump of metal.

“I did!” Gabriel said gleefully. 

“Sorry Cas, but I think it’s a tie,” Dean said. 

“Exactly like I said,” Gabriel told the other angel.

“You’re several hundred micrometers off the mark,” Cas said in a huff. 

“Well, we can’t see that, so…” Sam shrugged. 

Dean looked down at his watch and licked his lips. “And that’s my cue to vamoose.” He handed Sam his cue stick and went to grab his jacket, grinning all the while. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. The angels watched curiously.

“I,” Dean said as he pulled his jacket on. “Will be spending the night in the arms of a nubile female, preferably in a miniskirt and just drunk enough to consider me a good life choice.” 

“We were in the middle of a game, jackass,” Sam muttered. 

“We both know I was winning, Sam. I just saved you a horrible ass-whooping in front of your boy there,” he motioned towards Gabriel. He grinned and waved at them as they headed out the door. “See you later alligators!” 

The angels glanced at Sam, and Sam frowned at the door. “Ass,” was all he said in annoyance. 

Castiel looked contemplative, and Gabriel’s eyes suddenly lit up.

_Sam! Now would be the perfect time to prank Dean!_

_Right now? Cas is still here!_

_He won’t notice. Come on, Sambini, I bet my prank’ll get them together in 24 hours._

_A whole 24 hours? Do you need some pranking Viagra or something to get your engine going?_ Sam thought with a snicker. 

_Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny. Come on, Sam, look at Cas! Doesn’t he look like he could use some lovin’?_

Sam squinted at Cas. _No, honestly he looks like he could use a laxative._

Gabriel rolled his eyes. _You’re draggin’ ass, Winchester. I’m pranking Dean, and if you don’t I win by default._

_You can’t expect me to just mojo him just like that! What if I accidentally kill him?_

_Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve raised him. 3…2…_

_Okay, okay!_

_…1!_

Gabriel and Sam snapped their fingers at the same time, though Sam’s face was scrunched up in concentration as he did so. He felt the energy in his bones shoot out the door and for a second he could feel Dean in the Impala, drumming on the steering wheel to a song, grinning like a dope.

Castiel, who had his head tilted up to the ceiling, as if listening to something faint and far away, turned and looked at them with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Gabriel said easily. “Wanna play around round of darts?”

He stood tall with his chest pushed out. “I really should go.”

“Humans have been dealing with their own issues for thousands of years. You taking an hour to hang with us isn’t going to change anything,” Gabriel said. 

Cas frowned. “With that attitude it’s no wonder it’s all falling apart,” he said coldly. 

“Tsk, tsk, Castiel, you know you shouldn’t push my buttons,” Gabriel said, wagging his finger.

“Cas,” Sam started, stepping forward between the angels. “Just remember that we’re here for you, okay? Feel free to drop by whenever, alright?”

Cas nodded and disappeared with a rustle of beating feathers. 

Sam turned back to Gabriel’s smirking face, his cheeks red. “So, how will we know if…?”

“Oh, trust me, Sam, _we’ll know_ ,” Gabriel said with an overly dramatic laugh.


End file.
